The second half starts with a tension that feels like it’s squeezing the air out of my lungs. The crowd is loud, but it sounds distant, like everything is happening behind a glass wall. My team skates out looking drained. Heads down. Shoulders tight. No one says it out loud, but the scoreboard sitting at three–zero is already hanging over us like a death sentence.
The coach blows the whistle. “Focus!” he shouts. “I don’t care what happened earlier. Fix it now.”
I nod even though he’s not looking at me. My grip tightens on my stick. My wolf paces inside me, restless, annoyed, irritated with me for playing like a rookie during the first half. His growl is low and sharp, like he’s calling me useless.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath. “I got it.”
The referee drops the puck.
The othe
